


The Hunting of the Stark

by ApparentLeigh



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bonding, Friendship, Gen, Team Dynamics, don't know how long we'll have these guys to play with, i guess, other nice things, post-AoU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-03 08:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5284073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApparentLeigh/pseuds/ApparentLeigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Post-AOU) "They're not a team yet." Damn straight they're not -- until one Tony Stark goes missing, and suddenly everyone finds themselves learning on the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fit the First: Salute

**Author's Note:**

> Gasp! look! 
> 
> *A flurry of fireworks explode, spelling out NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED across the sky in big, glittering letters*
> 
> Oooo! Aaaaaah! Don't sue me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I was hoping that this would be clear from the story itself, but just in case, this is meant to pick up from the day that makes up the last couple of little scenes of AOU. Not that it's that important, but just so we're all on the same page. Screen. Whatever.

It wasn't as though Rhodey had never thought about it before. He'd thought about it the first time he'd ever met the Captain. But, because he wasn't a total egomaniac (unlike _some_ people) he didn't feel the need to point it out.

Besides, they'd been meeting in a social setting, so it was “this is Steve,” “yeah, Hi, James Rhodes, call me Rhodey.” And then Tony had hijacked the conversation – “I thought that was  _my_ nickname for you! Now I'll have to think of another one. How about Rhode Island? See, no-one will expect it because it's already a thing” and everything had gone in a familiar vein from there.

Tony had, of course, in his hyperactive-bumblebee way, been trying to keep his friend comfortable.

Rhodey would have died before admitting the level of hero-worship he'd had going when he'd discovered that Captain America was back and running around and taking out bad guys, but Tony had clued in anyway. Possibly due to Rhodey's forced calm whenever Cap was spoken of. (“Rogers stopped by,” “Oh, did he? Cool, cool... uh... cool.”)

But, after several weeks of merciless commentary on the subject, Tony had arranged for a casual meeting. Actually, considering how smoothly it had gone, Pepper had probably done the actual organizing. Just a little team-and-extended-team get together one weekend. Tony had shoved Rhodey at his childhood hero and stood by with his third-most irritating grin plastered across his face.

It had gone well, and Tony had been surprisingly supportive, not even bringing up the Captain America Original Action Figure that he knew Rhodey still hid in his loft.

Still. The one thing Rhodey had actually allowed himself to hope for had not happened, although he  _had_ tried not to think about it.

After several months of casual team meetings, he had almost completely forgotten about it, and now there was the excitement of being drafted in as one of the new avengers. Rhodey could have forgotten his own birthday in the moments after he'd first heard “Avengers, assemble!” called out.

Then Sam Wilson, of all people, brought it up.

***

They had just finished their first afternoon of official training as a group – nothing serious yet, mostly just demonstrating their abilities to one another. Rhodey had been a little embarrassed after seeing the crazy stuff Wanda and the Vision pulled, momentarily deflated and wondering why the rest of them were even needed. He shrugged off what was essentially an invitation to showboat, something he'd normally quite enjoy, saying that the suit was pretty much like Tony's, and nothing new.

Cap's  _disappointed_ look at Rhodey's lack of self-esteem was making him wish that the ground would just swallow him up already, when Sam lightened the mood by giving him a good-natured shove and telling him to “stop trying to play it cool.”

“Come on, _War Machine,_ race me! You too, Siri,” he called to the Vision, taking off. “Show me what you got!”

Spurred by the enthusiasm, Rhodey had taken the invitation - discovering to his great pleasure that he was in fact faster than the Falcon, although Sam was slightly more agile, and quicker to adapt from aerial to ground-level combat. (They couldn't tell whether the Vision was actually trying or not. He was mostly following, and watching them with an expression of polite interest.)

Wanda flitted about some, but she had only just started trying her telekinesis for levitation, and she kept losing her grip and crash-landing. Eventually the Vision took her by the hand and led her for a few laps, dragging her up when she started to fall.

Honestly, those two still kind of freaked Rhodey out. He tried not to show it, but Wanda in particular made him pretty nervous. Steve and Natasha seemed to trust her, which meant she must have done something right, but still. Mind control, man.

At the end of the afternoon, Steve had wound down with a kind of gentle pep talk about new directions and the old team spirit remaining with its new members. There were none of the clichés Rhodey had been bracing himself for, like  _greater than the sum of its parts_ and so on. The captain wasn't half-bad at speech making.

Sam seemed to see it differently, though, as after Steve was done he asked if he'd prepared the speech in advance. Steve threw a towel at his head with a smirk and a “You're dismissed.”

“Thank you, Captain,” drawled Sam, with a lazy nod of a salute. As the others made their way out, he turned to Rhodey and saluted a little more smartly. “You too, Colonel.”

Steve glanced over.

“You did know he's a colonel?” Sam asked. “He outranks you.”

“Ah, geez, I never put that together. Sorry, Colonel.”

And Steve  _Captain Freaking America_ Rogers snapped a salute at Rhodey.

FINALLY.

“Don't sweat it,” Rhodey said, ( _very_ calmly, thank you _very much_ ,) saluting in return. “You're not official army right now, either of you.”

“Well. You're never really out, right?” Steve shrugged.

Rhodey nodded sagely. "Still. Don't worry about it."

Sam flicked the end of the towel at Steve's head. “Just as well, that would have really messed up the chain of command.”

Then they had laughed their way into the mess hall.

***

So, Rhodey was in a pretty good mood by the end of the day. He had settled into the rooms he'd be staying in while the team trained over the next few weeks, and was no longer riding the highs and lows of  _this might be the best thing ever_ _but what if it isn't_ . He had that just-finished-a-workout good kind of tired going on, and was catching up on House of Cards.

...Then a Skype bubble appeared. _Pepper Potts calling._

He answered – there was no video, and it sounded like she was walking outside.

“Rhodey?”

“Hi, Pepper, what's up?”

He already knew what was up. Pepper wouldn't call to chat this late. He could feel his mood deflating like a cheap foam airplane cushion.

Pepper, being Pepper, didn't try to soften her request with meaningless small talk.

“Has our tin-man-with-a-heart called you, by any chance?”

“No. Is he not back at the tower yet?

It was not far to travel, and Tony had been driving one of his souped-up sports cars when he'd left the base this afternoon. He could have been there in mere hours.

“Ah – ” Pepper cleared her throat significantly. “He may be, but I'm not.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, so I was just wondering if he'd called.” She sounded embarrassed.

“Pepper, is Tony not answering your calls? Do you need me to go down to the tower and defend your honour?”

“Ha.”

“Are you guys fighting?”

Rhodey really hoped they weren't.

There had been an undercurrent to the goodbyes he and Tony had said to one another; Rhodey had been a little worried, but when wasn't he a little worried about Tony? He couldn't go chasing the guy down every time he started acting weird, or he'd never do anything else. Probably end up crazier than a honey badger in an icebox, too.

“Um. No, not fighting, we're not fighting.”

“No?”

“I'm pretty sure you need to actually speak to each other to be fighting, Rhodey.”

“So you're not fighting, you're just not speaking. That sounds amicable.”

“No, I – ” Pepper sighed hard, like she was trying to blow away a cobweb. “That's not what I meant. We just kept missing each other, you know, and I've been overseas with the relief foundation, so the time difference was awkward too.”

Rhodey couldn’t tell if she was being defensive or just worried. He'd give her the benefit of the doubt. “Sure, sure.”

“He left me a few messages.”

“Saying?”

There was a brief silence, which Rhodey took as Pepper deciding how much to share.

“He wanted me to call him,” she said finally. “Which I tried, and failed, to do. So have you heard from him?”

“Not since he left earlier. Do you want me to call him?”

“No, it's late. I'm sorry to have bothered you.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Okay... okay, thanks Rhodey.”

“Have a good... night? Uh, morning? What time is it there?”

“I don't know, my body clock stopped functioning years ago,” Pepper laughed shortly. “Night.”

“Night.”

Rhodey stared ahead at nothing for a few minutes.

At the time of the battle with Ultron, no-one had been particularly forthcoming about what Tony had done to get everyone so mad, other than “he created an AI without telling anyone and now it's trying to kill us all.” Seemed like a regular Tuesday for Tony, and by the time Rhodey was called in they'd apparently let him make another one, so clearly everything worked out okay.

Or at least okay enough to let Tony go without forcing him into a therapy session. They'd both been working pretty solidly helping set up the new base – Rhodey had figured he'd let Tony get back to Pepper and enjoy a few days' rest before subjecting him to a (mostly) friendly interrogation. But if he was fighting with Pepper...

Ignoring the fact that it was making him flash back to junior high and calling people's girlfriends for them (“Terrence wants to know why you're mad at him, Cynthia”), Rhodey decided to call Tony.

No answer. Oh well, he'd probably switched his phone to silent and gone to bed.

You know, for a good night's rest.

_Sure._

 


	2. Fit the First: Shoelaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this story has been sitting on my computer for months; after watching the CACW trailer I realised if it was going to head out into the big wide world, it was going to need to do so as soon as possible... here goes nothing, I guess.

As much as he was tempted to, Steve decided that putting his hands on his hips might be a little too much. He went with folding them across his chest. That was probably enough of a dad-pose.

He could tell when War Machine had spotted him waiting – there was just a slight hesitation in his flight before he seemed to realise that the jig was up and he couldn't pretend that he hadn't seen the Captain standing on the roof.

Rhodey landed carefully, as quietly as possible, and his faceplate lifted to show a chagrined expression.

“Uh, hey. Cap. Nice evening.”

“Sure is.” Steve replied easily. “Just out for a joyride?”

Rhodey's eyes flicked downwards.

Now Steve was fighting an urge to start tapping his foot and frowning. The thing was, he had always hated playing disciplinarian, especially over something minor like an unscheduled flight; it did make him a terrible hypocrite, after all. So it helped to slip into the role a little.

(It was easy to get carried away, however, and start telling people to tie their shoelaces.)

(Or mind their language.) (For example.)

But Rhodes wasn't going to need chewing out. He looked more apologetic than belligerent.

“I had to check something,” he said, letting the suit open up so he could step out.

“Can you tell me what it was?”

Rhodey eyed Steve, as though sizing him up. “Kind of private.”

“No-one else knows you left,” said Steve. Rhodes raised an eyebrow. “I swear. I wouldn't even be asking if you'd just slipped out for a breather. But you're in the suit, which kind of makes it my business.”

Rhodes glanced back towards the suit, which had powered down. “Would you believe me if I said I had a date?”

“For which you required enough fire-power to level a small town? What kind of company are you keeping, Rhodes?”

Rhodey's lips twitched. “You'd be surprised how much better the date goes with a little show and tell. New cars are nothing compared to this bad boy.”

“I'll bet.”

“Don't tell me you've never invited someone back to your place to show off your shield.”

“Some of us don't need to resort to that,” said Steve, raising a judgemental eyebrow. Rhodey laughed.

“Okay,” he said. “Just... I don't want to make a big deal, all right?”

Steve nodded.

“I was trying to find Tony.”

Steve experienced a sensation that would (he imagined) be similar to a stone suddenly materializing in his chest.

“He's, uh... he's missing?”

He tried to keep his tone light. From the expression on Rhodey's face, he guessed he wasn't succeeding.

“Don't freak out,” Rhodey warned.

Steve coughed. “Wouldn't dream of it. Do you have any idea where he went?”

“He's probably washed up in a bar somewhere. I just didn't want to... you know, not look, and then find out something bad happened.”

“Sure, I get it,” said Steve.

Rhodes had been the one to find Tony after he'd gone missing the first time, when so many had assumed he was dead; and Tony had been presumed dead at least once since then. Such things would certainly take a knock on a friendship, as Steve well knew.

“So... you took the suit to search faster?”

“His phone's off,” said Rhodey, rubbing a hand across his face. “I don't have a personality on my suit's guidance like JARVIS or FRIDAY, but I'm patched into some of the same systems as Tony. I thought I could scan for the GPS in his phone or car.”

“No luck?”

“Nope. But it's cool,” Rhodes shrugged, though it obviously wasn't. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen before putting it away again. “It was mostly a favor to Pepper, she was worried. I'll clear it next time, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Rhodes ordered the suit off to the hangar, and exited the roof just ahead of Steve.

As requested, Steve was doing his best not to “freak out”.

It had been over a month they'd been working, setting up this facility, and Tony had seemed... fine? But not. Blustering, as ever, joking when he should have been serious; and they'd both kind of skated around the fact that they'd been seconds from tearing each others' throats out before the advent of the Vision. Steve had told himself – as Tony had doubtless told _him_ self– that bygones should be bygones, and so on. But then, not dealing with something like that could have nasty consequences.

They'd come close to something like a conversation, earlier, after seeing Thor off. But nothing had come of it, and Steve had been distracted with the training.

As they walked, Steve tried not to imagine what Tony dropping off the map might mean. For the first time that he could think of, he sincerely hoped that Stark was just getting drunk.

 


	3. Fit the First: Chocolate

“Take my hand!”

“I don't think I need to.”

“You do, you do! Come on, take it!”

“Don't you think that your self-doubt might be contributing to – ”

“Take my damn hand,” yelped Wanda, feeling herself drop another foot. But she needn't have raised her voice – the Vision was right there, his hand ready to pull her up again, though she could hardly see him in the dark. His synthetic skin was smooth and cool to the touch.

“... _Thank_ you,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You're welcome.”

Wanda grimaced at the Vision's concern, flickering out towards the edges of her mind. “I am sorry, I don't mean to sound ungrateful. You are very good to join me out here and keep me company.”

_And to stop me from falling to a very flat end._

Wanda had stayed in the mess hall late after training, sitting in a quiet corner with some of the files she'd been given to read. The Captain, Wilson, and Rhodes had come in, laughing at something, while she was standing in line. Sam had beckoned her over to the large table that Natasha had grabbed in the middle of the room, but Wanda had smiled and shaken her head, holding up the folders she carried by way of excuse.

She was determined to be good at this. She knew her powers surpassed anyone else's on the team, except perhaps the Vision's. But she was hopeless in terms of strategy, tactics, and teamwork – everything that really counted in a fight. She'd proven that to the whole world when she had left her post during the battle; if it had been up to her, she would have doomed the entire planet over her grief. She needed to improve, and fast.

So she'd holed up with a large bowl of soup, trying to commit the information in front of her to memory. No-one tried to approach her, though she did catch a few sideways glances out of the corner of her eye.

It was obvious that a lot of people felt uncomfortable being so close to _the Scarlet Witch,_ as she had been creatively dubbed. She had given assurances that she would not try to read anyone's thoughts without permission (“unless it's by accident,” she'd added. It was good to have a caveat.) She was keeping to her promise, but there was no way to prove it. She would have to put up with the mistrust for a while.

Wanda had lost track of time, reading until the room started to empty. The other Avengers began to make their way off. Perhaps to train alone, or relax for the evening.

Wanda had not wanted to go to her room, but she felt conspicuous being the only person in the mess while the staff were trying to clean it up. She'd put her files back in meticulous order, as slowly as possible, then dawdled over to the station where they were supposed to leave their empty trays.

A comfortable-looking middle aged woman in a kitchen uniform watched her. Wanda nodded to her and smiled tightly, wondering if she was doing anything wrong. Everyone else had been here for at least a week; Wanda had only come to the facility that morning, finally an accepted member of the Avengers. Apparently, it had taken a while to get everyone on board with a team member who could cause Hulk-rampages and nightmares on a whim.

“You want a hot chocolate?” said the woman.

“I want... what, sorry?” Wanda blinked. The woman was smiling indulgently at her, as though she were seven. Well, perhaps she would appear very young here; she'd been feeling dwarfed by the athletic SHEILD agents since she'd arrived.

“A hot chocolate. I can get you one in a take-out cup.”

“Uh... thank you.” She couldn't think of what else to say, and she didn't want to hurt the woman's feelings. She had accepted the paper cup and gone for a walk around the grounds, waiting for the drink to cool, careful to avoid the hordes of agents.

The hot chocolate had been indescribable. She'd taken her first sip as she stepped into the shady wooded area near the running track, and had had to stop and sway for a moment. The mysterious woman, Wanda had decided, must be some confectionarily-based angelic being.

They'd never been able to get anything like this, growing up. The best they could hope for was the cheap powdered stuff which might as well have been made with so much plastic. There had been marginally better fare at Strucker's facility, she remembered; sachets of real cocoa already mixed with powdered milk and sugar. Still, not strong enough to properly flavour the oversized mugs of boiling water they were given from the kitchen. Wanda had used to give hers to Pietro, so he could double the mixture.

She could see him grin at her, saying _I shouldn't let you spoil me_ , but he'd have already stirred the powder into his cup before she'd had time to blink. _Careful, too much sugar and you'll become hyperactive_ , she'd say back, and he would pretend to look worried.

_He would have loved this_ , she thought, staring down at the drink. He'd have wheedled and charmed the smiling lady into giving him two cups of it at a time, and he'd be back there again every meal-time. He would have been able to just steal the stuff, but he'd enjoy convincing them to give it to him.

Stopping where she stood, she'd clutched a hand to her chest to keep herself from sobbing aloud – and had needed to stay like that for a few minutes. Then she'd licked the tears from her cheeks and washed the salt down with the last of her chocolate.

The Vision had found her like this – slightly puffy eyes, wet cheeks, sticky mouth, hidden in the deepening shadow of the trees. He had floated down, crazy golden cape billowing, like he was just strolling over from the other side of the street.

She'd asked him what he'd been doing, and he said he'd been watching the sunset.

“Of course,” said Wanda, as though this should be an obvious evening activity. Then she'd thought that perhaps it _should_ be an obvious evening activity. Why didn't more people watch sunsets? “Perhaps I will join you, next time.”

“Were you intending to continue with your training?” inquired the Vision, nodding at the empty field ahead of them.

“Hmm? Oh, I hadn't...” Wanda considered. She still did not want to go to her room. Having only just arrived, the few things she owned were still in boxes, and the whole place was amazingly dreary. It was comfortable, of course, but it was not home.

...Home was buried in a small grave near an airfield outside Prague.

“Possibly,” she had said. “If you are not busy, perhaps you could be my net again?”

“Certainly.” The Vision had sounded pleased. He (it? they?) had barely given Wanda the time to put down her empty cup and shrug out of her coat before taking off on a warm-up lap and calling after her to follow.

And now here they were.

It had been over an hour since they'd started. The light had been slipping slowly from the sky, leaving it slate colored and flat. A few stars were glimmering above.

“You really shouldn't keep holding on when you fall. You'll never learn that way. Keep your thoughts positive.”

“Who are you, Peter Pan?” Wanda complained as she launched her way up once more.

The Vision laughed.  
“You are! An oversized, purple Peter Pan. With a cape.”

There was no reply, and Wanda wondered if the Vision knew what she was talking about. Someone should get him started with a reading list.

This time, she at least managed to control the fall, landing with minimal awkwardness on the field below. “I think that's enough,” she called up at the darkness.

“One more try,” insisted the Vision, sailing overhead. “Let's see if you can get onto the roof.” He(?) they(?) pointed across the field, where the main building loomed large and pale in the rising moonlight.

Wanda sighed, and nodded, collecting her coat and crumpling the cup into her pocket before launching herself back up.

Trying to distract herself from the ground, she asked the Vision whether or not she was supposed to use “he”, “she”, “it”, or something else.

“Ah. That is a good question. Careful of that tree – ”

Wanda swerved, swearing, and felt leaves brush the tips of her boots. “Thanks.”

“Of course. And I'm happy with male pronouns – when I was the computer program JARVIS I was based partially on a real person, who was male. I've grown accustomed to it.”

“A real person?”

“Named after him, in fact. He used to be the Starks' butler.”

Wanda chuckled. Trust Stark to create such a thing.

It didn't take as long to get to the facility as Wanda had thought it would. At least, they almost made it – they were about thirty feet from the roof when they saw the captain standing on it. Waiting. Wanda halted so fast that the Vision knocked into her from behind, and had to grab her under the arms to stop her from plummeting.

Her first thought was that they had done something wrong, and were in trouble. Although... how would the captain have known to wait for them there?

“Miss Maximoff?” the Vision asked quietly.

“Hang on,” she said, holding up a hand.

“...Was that a joke?”

Wanda did not have a chance to answer, as something was happening – something big, dimly gleaming in the roof's security lights, was sweeping down onto the roof.

It was Rhodes.

They should have turned and left. They should not have eavesdropped. Especially when Rhodes claimed his reasons for sneaking out as 'personal'. They at least should have made their presence known.

But they didn't. They listened to Rhodes' news, and waited in silence until the two men had left the roof, and then alighted themselves.

“What do you think it means?” Wanda asked the Vision.

“I'm not sure. Perhaps if nothing is heard from Stark by tomorrow I can offer to look for him myself.”

“Not tonight?”

The Vision smiled at her. It was surprisingly endearing. “I suspect that overreacting might make the situation worse. Besides, I don't want to admit to spying unless I have to.”

“Then why did you do it?” asked Wanda, as he took off again.

He turned back, hovering. “We have a secret now, you and I,” he said. “It's such a _human_ experience.”

Wanda watched as he disappeared.

It was nice, she thought, meeting someone completely honest; there was not even the temptation to try to sneak into his mind. Besides... it was good to know that she wasn't necessarily the weirdest one on the team.

 


	4. Fit the First: Chlorine

“Aw, were you waiting?”

Sam turned from his locker and grinned. “Don't flatter yourself.”

Natasha pulled a face at him, and continued to towel her hair. “You just decided to take an extra long shower? Hill and I have to wash our hair, what's your excuse?”

“I have hair,” Sam protested. Natasha raised an eyebrow. Yeah, that had come out a little weird. “If you have to know, I was trying to get completely clear of the chlorine. I have sensitive skin.”

“Sure,” she drawled, glancing back towards the cubicle where Maria was dressing after her shower.

“You want to call my dermatologist?” Sam challenged.

He was telling the truth – after nearly an hour spent in the gym pool, his skin had started to feel uncomfortably itchy, and the long shower had been completely warranted. He hadn't been trying to time his exit to anyone else's.

...Of course, he would normally have gotten out of the pool much sooner, but Maria had asked if he wanted to race her. So... yeah.

The cubicle door banged open.

“Were you guys waiting for me?”

“No,” called Sam.

“He has sensitive skin,” Natasha added in an explanatory tone. Sam glared at her.

Thankfully, Maria made no comment on this, changing the subject to her proposal to establish 'swim-nights' a few times a week.

“I always mean to get into it regularly,” she said, “but I swear it's like little gremlins come in the night and eat my willpower. If we agree on a schedule, we can all bug each other about keeping to it.”

Sam nodded, trying not to stare at Maria as she plucked idly at her dampened shirt. “Sounds doable.”

“Don't we have enough physical training as it is, Wilson?” said Natasha. “I only came here tonight because they're using the gym for a night-time session with the trainees. I don't need _extra._ ”

Sam knew Nat was just winding him up – she could have handled an extra two or three hours training per day without batting an eyelash – but she did make a good point.

When Sam thought back to his Army training, every one of the memories was linked by a common, if vague, sense of pain. The whole “tearing you apart to put you back together again” thing had felt very literal.

One of his most vivid memories of that time was the end of a training session for the Pararescue program. He'd been up to Army standards of fitness before that, but the wings required a whole new level of stamina. He'd been using some medieval torture device (they'd told him it was a weights machine, but he wasn't fooled); his arms had felt like they were on fire, and he'd been sure he was about to do something embarrassing like throwing up or passing out.

He'd been desperate for a second's break – so he'd stopped, turned to his C.O. and demanded to know whether or not they actually expected him to be able to take off by _flapping._

(Fortunately, his C.O. had a sense of humor.)

That, however, was nothing – _nothing_ – to the workouts he'd been put through with Steve since he'd arrived at the base a week ago. The man was clearly a sadist, and had only managed to go undetected for so long by giving people that big ol' home-grown grin whenever they got suspicious.

Itchy skin aside, Sam would be more than happy to transfer his work-outs to the water.

Maria was already making her pitch. “Swimming's different. Easier on the knees, for one thing.”

“We're not really going for _easy_ , here,” Natasha said, the corner of her mouth lifting into a smile. “The point is to be combat ready, knees included.”

“Okay, sure, but what about winding down? That's also important. Much easier in the pool.”

“There's also a jacuzzi,” said Sam, going in for the hard sell.

“The gym has a sauna,” Natasha pointed out.

“Are you kidding? Saunas are for wobbly, sweaty octogenarians in towels,” Sam declared. “Jacuzzis are for young, sexy folks.”

Maria snorted. She and Sam continued to beat Nat down with _infallible_ arguments (“You'll build stamina! What if you fall into the ocean during an op?”) until she agreed to try it for a couple of weeks.

“We should ask the others, too.”

“Don't ask Steve,” Maria begged, as they exited the locker room. “I don't think my ego can handle it.”

“How do you think we feel,” said Sam, “training with the guy? I told you how we met, right?”

“Hey, no-one forced you to join the team, Wilson.” Maria poked his shoulder. “You've made your bed, now you've got to lie in it, super soldiers and all.”

On Sam's other side, Natasha muttered something very soft, which might have been something to do with Sam wanting someone else lying in his bed. Sam cleared his throat loudly.

“Do you think we could get the Vision into the pool? Be interesting to see what he does... unless it would short him out...”

“It doesn't make sense for him not to be waterproof. Right?” said Maria. “Or at least a little waterproof.”

“He's not a robot, technically. But I could integrate water guns into one of our training sessions,” offered Natasha. “For science.”

They had just started to walk across the courtyard to the dormitory wing, when they spotted movement in a lighted stairwell window a few stories up.

“Is that Steve?” Natasha stopped and stared up at the window.

“And Rhodes.” Maria frowned. “Those are the stairs to the roof.”

“What were they doing up there?” Natasha sounded peeved.

Sam wondered very much the same thing, but he suspected that Natasha was going to take not-being-in-on-secrets much more personally.

“They were probably just talking,” he said, as they continued across the courtyard.

“On the roof? Why would you have a conversation on a roof? Unless you were keeping something quiet.”

“There might be other reasons,” Sam said mildly.

“What would you need to go onto a roof to talk about?”

“Stargazing?” suggested Maria. “Or... uh...”

“...Roof maintenance,” finished Sam.

“Right.”

And then the lights went out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am not in the habit of writing ships out of canon (nothing against them, I just don't) - but someone else suggested it and I couldn't get over the idea. It may only be unrequited. We'll see.


	5. Fit the Second: GPS

Pepper pushed her sunglasses up onto her head as she ducked into the cool shade of a café awning. She had just enough time to grab a coffee before the next meeting across town; at least she hoped she had time. Happy had gotten them lost three times so far, insisting that the GPS was at fault – Pepper had not argued, as she hardly knew Seoul well enough to correct him. She had, however, had her assistant assign extra time to the 'travelling' portion of the daily itinerary.

Waiting in line, she checked her phone for the tenth time since she had called Rhodey an hour ago.

Nothing.

Should she try calling again?

No, that was silly. When Tony checked his phone, he'd see the missed calls and phone back.

_Definitely,_ she decided, _that's what he'll do._ She marched into the coffee shop.

Five minutes in line and an argument over a broken credit card machine later, Pepper stood at the corner of the intersection, sipping a latte and waiting for Happy.

...And trying to call Tony again.

Maybe he'd just buried his cellphone in the workshop, and hadn't heard it ring. Maybe he'd hear it this time.

Nope.

_Okay, it's probably fine._

_..._

_It's probably not fine._

Jerked out of her gloomy reverie by a familiar car horn, Pepper gathered her wits and located Happy, waving at her from the SUV. She hurried over and climbed in.

“Sorry I'm late, Pepper.” Happy nodded at her in the rear-view mirror as he pealed away from the curb.

“Did you get lost again?” Pepper said, trying to sound sympathetic, which was a mistake. Happy huffed indignantly.

“It's not me that got lost, it was – ”

“ – The GPS, I know – ”

“ – and I wasn't lost, anyway, there was traffic. I tried to call you.” He sounded faintly reprimanding.  
“I was calling... someone else. Sorry.”

Pepper had a feeling that telling Happy about the situation would not help anyone. Rhodey, at least, had been joking about going to defend her honor. If Happy thought Pepper was being ignored, he would most likely get them both on a plane in the next half-hour to go threaten Tony in person.

And Pepper wouldn't be able to tell him why she was so worried, just as she hadn't been able to tell Rhodey.

She went to take out her phone, then realised she still had it in her hand. She knew that she shouldn't, that she needed to stay focused for her next meeting and that it was a really bad idea, but she opened up her voicemail and slipped in an earbud, tuning out Happy's lecture on the importance of keeping security channels clear.

_Don't do this to yourself._

She did it anyway.

“He left me a few messages. He wanted me to call him,” she had told Rhodey. Not a lie, not by a long shot. Still not everything.

[First message, three forty-nine p.m. To listen, press one.]

“Hey. It's me.”

The background noise suggested he was calling from his car.

“I know you're probably in the middle of something really important... but I was. Um. I, I needed. I was wondering if, if you get done with the really important things and if you're on the ground... could you call me?”

[End of first message.]

[Second message, four thirty-two p.m.]

Different noises. No car. What sounded like wind blowing past. His voice was reedy, as though he wanted to speak quietly but was forcing out his usual volume.

“Pepper?”

(The sound of a door slamming.)

“Do you know how many bad people thought they were good? Historically speaking? Like, how many genocidal dictators were completely convinced that what they were doing was a super-great idea at the time?”

(Pause. Rustling. Wind, probably.)

“...I'm actually asking, by the way, if you have any idea then I'd love to know. But I think it's probably a lot. And, so, I was wondering. Do you think they knew what they were? Do you think they woke up every morning and thought, hey, I guess I'll go be evil today.” He paused again. “...Do you, do you think they could _tell_?”

(More rustling.)

[End of second message.]

[Third message, four fifty-two p.m.]

His voice this time was low and earnest.

“There must have been some clues, though, right? Like ...I bet they were lousy tippers.”

[End of third message.]

[End of messages. To listen again, press one.]

“Pepper?”

“Huh?” Pepper started and pulled out her earbud.

“Did you hear a word of that?”

“Several of them, yes. Thank you, Happy.”

Happy shook his head, looking cross. Unable to care, Pepper was already pressing the call button. She couldn't stop herself.

_No, he's definitely not fine, of course he's not fine. I need to call him. Of course I need to call him._

No signal. She kept the phone in her hand, squeezing it tight; staring at the screen as though she could will the signal bars into reappearance.

Each time she'd listened through the messages (six times since receiving them), she'd hoped that she might pick up some kind of – well, anything. Any clue. A hint, perhaps, that it wasn't what it sounded like.

...Because it sounded like he was talking about becoming a _bad guy_.

Which should have been ridiculous.

And somehow wasn't.

“Come on,” she whispered, holding the phone so tight she thought it might snap in half. “Come on.”

 


	6. Fit the Third: Oatmeal

_Glop._

Early morning sun was streaming in through the wide windows, casting gently flickering tree shadows across the floor and tables. A few of the windows were open, letting in the clear air that follows a night of rain.

_Glop._

The birds outside had not yet finished their dawn chorus, and the liquid warbling mingled with the sound of talking and laughter as the first early risers trickled in for breakfast.

_Glop._

Stupid birds. Stupid laughing people. Stupid, stupid sunlight. Why was nothing silent and dark and motionless when you wanted it to be?

“Hill?”

Hill blinked, but did not turn her head. Her eyes felt sandy. She watched, impassive, as another clump of congealing oatmeal fell back off the serving spoon into the tureen. _Glop._ She had a feeling she was supposed to be doing something with the spoon, not just holding it out in front of her. But what?

“Hill? Maria? Whatcha doing there?”

She turned to face Col. Rhodes's politely puzzled expression.

“Are you going to eat that?” he asked, indicating the spoon, and her empty bowl.

Hill shrugged. “Oh, you know. I thought I'd try to stare it down, first.” She dipped the spoon, and her brain finally managed to remember the movements required to get the oatmeal into the bowl.

“Sure, sure.” Rhodey nodded as he slid his tray after hers down the counter. “Important to let it know who's boss.”

They halted together at the 'cooked' station. Rhodey loaded up on eggs and ham while Maria hunted for the crispiest pieces of bacon she could find.

Then. Ah, then. Coffee.

Maria had intended to go find a table that was well away from a. sunlight, b. birds, and c. everything else, but Rhodey nudged her with his tray as they walked, steering her towards a large table in the middle of the room.

“Come on, keep me company. And, uh, any of the other guys that show up.”

Maria could not think of a reason to waste energy arguing, and sat down. She guessed that she wasn't supposed to notice Rhodey's self-satisfied nod at Sam, who had just come in. _Oh, boy_.

Maria could have been forgiven for not noticing the few-too-many glances she'd been receiving from Sam; he wasn't making a big deal out of his attraction, which she appreciated. The attention the matter had received from his team-mates, however, had been about as subtle as a football to the face.

Sam rolled his eyes in response and grabbed a tray.

_Phew_. One of these days, he was going to start taking the others seriously, and then what was she supposed to do?

Rhodey was staring again.

“What?”

“Are you putting bacon on your oatmeal? How tired _are_ you?”

Maria glanced down at her bowl. “Very. I am very, very tired. But this is on purpose.”

“Don't you lie to me, Hill.”

“No, it's great,” she protested. “Look – you get the driest crispy bacon possible, then you crumble it over. Like croutons in soup. Then – ” she opened her little container of maple syrup and poured it in. “See?”

“Oh.” Rhodes nodded for a second, then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Sounds Canadian.”

“What does?” asked Steve, as he materialized behind them clutching a bucket-sized coffee cup.

“Aren't you going to eat?” asked Rhodey, as Maria was reminded of her own blessed coffee and took as many gulps as she could before her next yawn.

“I ate earlier.” Steve sat down. “Hill? You okay?”

“Fine. Up all night again.” Pretending that she didn't see them both immediately glance over at Sam, Maria continued. “We had another alarm at the info and tech desk. Took hours to sort out.”

“An alarm? Why wasn't I called?” Steve frowned.

“It was a _technical_ emergency, Steve. The computers went down. If they'd come to life and started quoting Disney movies, I would have called.”

_Ha. Getting witty. The coffee must be working._

Steve looked unconvinced. “I may not be a tech whiz, I know how serious cyber threats are, Hill.”

“Bully for you.”

“I'm serious. Even if you're positive you won't need the team, at least alert me.”

Maria raised an eyebrow. “Check your phone.”

“Huh?”

As Steve fumbled in his pocket for his phone, Maria started to make her way through her oatmeal, wishing she'd thought to grab another container of syrup.

“What am I looking for?” Steve asked, sliding along the bench to make room for Sam.

“An alert. From me. Last night. Come on, you know how to use that thing by now.”

“ _Yes,_ I know how to use it, I'm just not seeing any notifications.”

He turned the screen. Maria and Rhodey peered at it.

Maria was experiencing a certain sinking feeling.

“Huh,” Rhodey said through a mouthful of egg. “You sure you sent it?”

“Yes,” Maria ground out. “I'm sure.”

“I'd ask what you're all talking about,” said Sam tentatively, “but everyone's looking a little tense...”

Maria sighed. “Not tense. Tired.” She stood and picked up her tray. “Sorry, Steve. I guess we didn't catch all of the systems in the sweep. I'll head back to info and tech. Hopefully the Vision's still there.”

An odd look passed over Steve's face. “You got Vision to help?”

“That was also on the message.” Maria nodded goodbye to the group and carried her tray off, stopping to grab two more containers of syrup. She would need the sugar.

 


End file.
